All Too Used To It
by GeniaTheParadox
Summary: Fluffy/smutty one-shot. After over a month together, there are a lot of things John is getting used to about Sherlock.


My second ever bash at Johnlock is a bit more fluffy than my first, since this is an established relationship one-shot type thing. Still totally smutty though, of course. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this brand new OTP of mine. Fingers crossed.

Chuck some reviews in my general direction.

And I don't own Sherlock or John or 221B Baker Street or anything. That would be absurd and brilliant.

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**All Too Used To It **

The morning sunlight stirred John into consciousness from what was a peaceful, dreamless sleep. As he rubbed his bleary eyes with his knuckles the familiar sight of Sherlock's messy, cluttered bedroom made him smile to himself. It had been a while since he'd woken up in his own, much neater room upstairs, just over a month now. It turns out they didn't need that second bedroom after all.

When John turned his head he was completely unsurprised to find Sherlock staring at him. The very first time that they slept together John had nearly jumped out of his skin when he woke up and found Sherlock's piercing grey eyes staring unblinkingly at him. The detective's perfectly casual response that he simply enjoyed watching John sleep only made it creepier. But now John was completely used to it.

"Watching me sleep again, I see," he mumbled, his voice sounding croaky.

"It's fascinating," said Sherlock with a little smile.

"I'm surprised you're not bored of it yet," John yawned.

"I could never get bored of you."

John smiled, letting Sherlock wrap his long, pale arms around him. That was something else John had gotten used to. He never would have guessed in a million years, but Sherlock Holmes liked to cuddle. Looking as thin and cold and angular as he did, Sherlock seemed like the least cuddly person in the entire world. But on their first night together, and every night since, John fell asleep with Sherlock's slender body pressed against his, those long limbs wrapped around him as if the detective was afraid that if he didn't hold on tightly enough John might disappear in the middle of the night. Even during the day, when there were no new cases to solve, rather than complaining loudly of boredom Sherlock would snuggle up next John on the sofa, predicting the outcomes of the paternity tests on the trashy daytime television programmes while practically sitting on the army doctor's lap. John never thought that he'd ever use the word 'cuddly' to describe Sherlock Holmes, but he really was and this morning was no exception.

"Do you even sleep?" John asked. "Or do you just wake up really early to stare at me?"

"Obvious question, John," said Sherlock, nuzzling up against his lover. "Of course I sleep. I have to, or I wouldn't be able to function properly due to sleep deprivation. And how on earth do you expect me to shag you senseless if I'm suffering from sleep deprivation? Think it through, sweetheart."

"Sugar-coating your condescension with an affectionate pet name doesn't make it anything less condescending, Sherlock," John chuckled as his lover started to kiss his neck. "Also I need to go to work and I can't be late again."

Sherlock straddled John, kissing as much of his neck as possible and sucking on his earlobe.

"You won't be late," he said, his large hands pushing up John's t-shirt. "It won't take me very long to make you come and then you can be on your way."

"Sherlock, I..." John's argument was lost in a moan as Sherlock succeeded in pushing his t-shirt up and lowered his head, taking one small pink nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue over it. "I, mmm... I really created a monster when I took your virginity, didn't I?"

"Mmhmm," Sherlock mumbled, suckling the sensitive nipple in his mouth while pinching the other between his thumb and finger until John could barely stand it.

That was one thing John was probably never going to get used to. He shouldn't have been surprised, if he was being honest with himself. He knew Sherlock had an addictive personality, but it was still difficult to get his head around the fact that he had essentially turned Sherlock into a sex addict. But it was a different kind of sex addiction. John trusted that Sherlock would never be unfaithful to him – would never be driven by sexual frustration to start picking up random strangers in bars or something – because Sherlock showed absolutely no sign of any kind of attraction to anybody that wasn't Dr. John Watson. They often joked that he wasn't gay or bi, but 'John-sexual'. The detective seemed to be constantly and insatiably horny, the only exception being when he was focused on a case, but it was only ever for _John_.

Sherlock kissed his way down John's body, leaving possessive little bite marks on the slightly tanned skin until he got to the waistband of John's boxers. John felt altogether powerless under Sherlock's administrations, very aware that he had to be at work in an hour but also that he was achingly hard, his cock already leaving a small damp patch on his pants. Sherlock wasted no time, pulling John's boxer's down and dragging his tongue up his lover's erection from base to tip, before swallowing the length until his nose was buried in the sandy public hair.

"Ohh – oh, _fuck_, Sherlock!"

John had received a fair few blowjobs in his time, although none from any men, but Sherlock was probably the best he'd ever had. Sherlock was an absurdly fast learner. The awkward fumbling and gagging of their first time only lasted about a minute before he mastered the art of giving head perfectly. Sherlock seemed to get better at sex every time they had it, to the point where it was impossible to believe that he'd not only been a virgin but a virgin who was completely indifferent to any form of sexual interaction before he and John became a couple.

Currently John was having trouble remembering how to breathe. He moved the duvet away so he could watch his not all together unimpressive length disappearing in and out of his lover's mouth. After years of crime scenes and dissecting body parts, Sherlock's gag reflex was pretty much nonexistent, and he was putting it to good use now. He bobbed his head up and down, swirling his tongue in just the way that he knew John loved. John tangled his fingers in the mess of black curls, trying his best not to thrust into Sherlock's mouth even though he knew his lover wouldn't mind having his mouth fucked, and looked down to find Sherlock's piercing eyes still watching him as he fell apart.

Ordinarily Sherlock liked to tease John – or _torture, _as John preferred to call it – bringing him to the cusp of climax before stopping again and again until John felt like he'd go insane, before eventually letting him come. But right now Sherlock knew that John needed to be at work in exactly fifty-two minutes and had already arrived inexcusably late the day before because they'd been having a shower together and lost track of time. So teasing, as endlessly enjoyed as he found it, just wasn't an option.

Sherlock licked and sucked and swallowed around John's cock, fondling his balls and humming around him. John panted, babbling incoherently, his grip on Sherlock's hair maybe a bit too tight but he was so close that he didn't even notice. Sherlock rather liked getting his hair pulled anyway. John would have been happy for this to last forever, but all too soon something snapped and his orgasm hit him hard. He threw his head back, one hand tugging Sherlock's hair and the other clinging to the headboard, as he erupted down Sherlock's throat with a cry, his whole body trembling as Sherlock swallowed around him.

"Oh wow," he gasped. "I... ohh... I will never get over... how good you are at that... _fuck_..."

Sherlock chuckled as he licked his lips, making his way up John's body before catching his lips in a rough, needy kiss. John moaned at the taste of himself on Sherlock's tongue, slipping his hand down his lover's slender body to the prominent bulge in his pyjama bottoms.

"I thought you didn't want to be late for work?" Sherlock said with a deep groan, grinding down into John's hand.

"You didn't think I'd really leave without returning the favour, did you?" John whispered with a smirk.

John fondled Sherlock through the thin material of his pyjamas, before slipping his hand past the waistband and circling his hand around Sherlock's thick cock. Sherlock felt heavy in his hand, dripping with pre-come and radiating heat. Sherlock buried his face in John's neck, his breath heavy and ragged as John smeared the pre-come over his crown with his thumb before rubbing his shaft quickly, twisting his wrist with every stroke. The low, baritone moans and the way Sherlock growled his name were enough to make John stir even though he'd just come. Sherlock bucked his hips, thrusting into John's fist, stroke after stroke bringing him closer to the edge.

One more perfect, wonderful stroke and Sherlock was gone, coming hard into John's hand and latching his mouth onto John's neck to muffle his scream – that would definitely leave a mark that John would find impossible to explain away later. Sherlock rolled onto the bed, breathless and spent and at peace with the world, watching with a smile as John licked his come off his fingers.

"I love you, John," he said. "So much it hurts."

John grinned and sat up on his forearm, leaning down to kiss Sherlock softly on the lips.

"I love you too," he said, kissing Sherlock again. "And I really need to go to work or I'm definitely going to be late."

"Damn your work," Sherlock grumbled, sulking like an overgrown child. "Work is dull. Can't you call in sick and stay home with me today, sweetheart?"

"The bills won't pay themselves," said John, giving Sherlock one more lingering kiss. "I'll be home before you know it, love."

He stood up and stretched, making his way to the bathroom, aware that Sherlock was still watching him. "Try not to do anything too destructive while I'm out. Mrs. Hudson will be beside herself if you start shooting the wall again."

When John came home at the end of the day he found Sherlock sitting on the floor with one of Lestrade's troublesome cold cases spread out in front of him, thinking aloud to his skull and wrapped up in one of John's favourite cardigans. It was funny the kind of thing John was becoming all too used to.

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Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.  
Tell me what you thought

xxx


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